by Jamie Begley
Turning the television channel when he felt himself nodding off, Ink found an old action movie to watch. He scooted off the bed, went to the window to look out again, and not seeing anything, walked to the bathroom to take a piss. Shoving his dick back inside, he zipped his jeans back up.
As he was going through the doorway, an arm reached out, encircling his neck, pulling him back against a hard chest.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to flush the toilet and wash your hands when you go to the bathroom?”
Terrified, Ink didn’t try to fight back, hanging limply beneath the arm. “Gavin, Slate made me ….”
The man behind him gave a sardonic laugh. “You and Crash must have gotten together to get your stories straight before I broke his neck.”
“Please don’t hurt me …,” he begged. “I can give you Slate …,” he gasped out. “I swear.”
“I wouldn’t swear if I were you. You don’t want to piss God off right before He sends you to Hell.”
“Please …,” he continued to beg, clawing his nails into the arm around his neck, his feet wildly kicking out against the death grip around him.
Tasting the salty taste of blood in his mouth from biting his tongue, Ink was grateful that Reaper was making it quick … and painless.
Ink woke up to water thrown on his face. Disoriented, he stared around at what looked to be a white wall. He tried to sit up to see what was around him but couldn’t. His hands and legs were handcuffed to metal bars that ran the length of his body; the cuffs allowed his arms and legs to slide along the bars but not enough to raise them in the air. Groaning, he blinked at the sun shining down at him. Nearly shitting himself he was so scared, he turned his head and saw he was in some kind of heavy box. He lifted his eyes to see dirt all around, then started screaming when he realized the box was cement and he was in a deep hole.
Terrified, he struggled to escape, his head jerking back and forth. “Help! Help!” he shouted at the top of his lungs hoping someone would hear him.
Sobs of relief shook his chest when a shadow casted over from above.
He screamed at the silhouette of a man, “Help me out!”
“Why would I do that? I put you there.”
When the shadowy outline took a step closer to the edge of the hole, Ink got a clearer look at the man. “Reaper … please. I have kids.”
“Who are better off without having you as a father. Even your ex-wife doesn’t want you around them.”
“Fucking bitch! She ratted me out?”
“We knew where you were the entire time. The only reason I let you live this long is because I want Slate. I guess he isn’t as loyal to you as you are to him.”
“I can get him for you, I swear ….”
Reaper bent down to his haunches with a beer bottle in his hand, giving him a mocking look. “What did I tell you about swearing?” Taking a drink of his beer, Reaper watched him as he tried jerking his hands out of the handcuffs.
“You recognize this place?”
Ink started crying, his hands becoming bloody.
“This is the grave where my brother buried me … Or, at least the body of the man he thought was me.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that. That was all Crash and Slate.”
“Unfortunately, for you, I don’t feel as close to Crash as I do to you. He’s buried in a different graveyard. No, this one is special. This is the one that, when I do die, I’ll be buried here. Why not?” He laughed. “It already has my tombstone on it. Viper is all about saving an extra dime.”
Another man came to stand next to Reaper. “I paid a fucking fortune for that tombstone. I put a lot of thought into that poem.”
“It sucks. Make sure you change it when I do die.”
The two men both drank their beers as they stared down at him. Ink then saw other men surround the hole.
“Help me! He’s crazy!” Ink begged, crying so hard snot was making it hard to breathe.
“Afraid I can’t deny that.” Reaper straightened to his full height again. Jesus, he was even bigger than when he had first been kidnapped. No wonder Slate had wanted to keep him almost starved.
“Damn, it’s getting hot out here. You need something to drink?”
Ink knew better than to ask for something he wouldn’t get. He had ignored Reaper’s pleas too many times for water to expect him to give it to him.
“You afraid to ask?” A sinister smile played over Reaper’s mouth. “Don’t be. Since we’re going to be spending time together, the least I can do is give you water.” Reaper held his hand out to a man standing out of sight. Ink recognized the man who came forward; Crash had shown him pictures of the other Last Riders.
“Lucky … help me out! Please. You’re a pastor!”
“That’s why you’re getting the water,” he said, finding an empty space around the hole.
Reaper dropped the water bottle down into the vault. “I told him it was a waste of good water. In case you haven’t figured it out, you’re in a vault for a casket. When the top goes on, it’s going to suck out all the air from inside. Lucky thinks you might have a few minutes. I don’t. You’ll have to tell us which one of us is right when they put my coffin on top of your bones.”
Ink’s mouth dropped open. Reaper was going to bury him alive, in the grave that used to be his.
Ink started laughing hilariously. “Son of bitch! I’ll be waiting for you!”
Reaper gave him a smirk before taking the last sip of his beer. “I’ve never been afraid of ghosts. It’s the fucked-up motherfuckers like you I should have watched out for.” Flipping the bottle so that Reaper held the neck in his hand, he threw it at him, hitting him on the forehead.
Viper then finished his beer, taking his time before flipping it the same way and hitting Ink on the temple.
Did he just feel the handcuff slip enough to get his thumb out? Ink desperately started wiggling his fingers trying to get his hand free as each of The Last Riders took turns throwing their bottles at him. When one hit his dick, he pissed himself. Ink stopped trying to get his hand free. He knew he was fucked. Slate knew he was fucked. That’s why he ditched them. He would rather have a bullet in his brain than be buried alive.
“You’re acting like you didn’t enjoy several things that we did to you. Viper, did you know that Gavin was Slate’s bitch? Hell, he was all of our bitch. He gave a better blowjob than the sluts in the club did,” Ink goaded the president of The Last Riders.
An animal scream of torment came out of Viper’s mouth as his hand went behind his back to take out his gun and point it at him.
Thank God, Ink thought.
“No.” Reaper reached out, taking Viper’s wrist and lifting it and the gun to the sky. “No, Viper,” Reaper said again when Viper tried to pull his arm back down. “Shade, Knox, get him out of here,” he rasped out.
Reaper waited until his brother was forced away from the hole. “Good try, Ink. I’m not going to make it that easy for you. I begged you too many times to put me out of my misery. I’m giving you the same compassion you gave me.” Reaper motioned to something out of sight, and then Ink heard a motor start.
“You know what’s funny as fuck?” Reaper asked him.
Ink glared up at him, refusing to talk.
“This vault is a hell of a lot better than the shithole I was forced to live in.”
Ink started yelling again when he saw the top being lowered down, the two pieces of the vault meeting with a metal sound.
“Don’t leave me in here … please ….” Ink started begging as the top began sliding down, enclosing him within. “Motherfuckers!”
Reaper stood, watching the backhoe drop the chain onto the top of the vault, completely enclosing Ink within.
He didn’t spare Viper a glance when he returned to his side as they watched mounds of dirt being dropped onto the vault.
“How did you stand it?” Viper said hoarsely.
Reaper gave him the cold hard truth. “At firs
t, I thought I could escape. When that kept failing, I thought The Last Riders would rescue me. When that didn’t happen, I prayed to God to help me. He didn’t; He let me wallow in that filth. You want to know how I survived what they put me through?” Reaper’s lips curled up in a facsimile of a smile. “I didn’t.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“That color looks good on you.”
“Thank you. I like yours, too,” Ginny complimented the woman sitting next to her on the couch.
Inspecting her toes, she ran the tip of her fingernail along the side of her big toe, wiping a speck of polish away.
“I’m not crazy about the one I picked. I prefer the plum I borrowed off you last week.” Gianna held her foot out to show her the full effect of the new red polish that she purchased. “Which one do you like better?”
“Both look good on you. Plum looks classier”—Ginny tilted her head, glancing at Gianna’s toes—“but the red looks sexy. Do you want to be the stylish banker, or would you rather be a come-and-get-me red?”
“Is there an in-between?”
“Of course.” Ginny leaned toward the coffee table to grab a bottle, handing it to her. “Hello, Pink.”
Gianna lifted her eyes from the bottle. “Of course,” she said, breaking into laughter. Setting the polish on her lap, she reached for the fingernail polish remover and cotton balls to start removing the red from her toes. “How come, when you moved in here last month, you only had a couple of backpacks and a makeup case of fingernail polish? You have more polish than you have clothes.”
“I have my priorities,” Ginny joked, seeing that Gianna was studying her seriously. She switched feet and started polishing the nails on her other foot. “On the bus, you’re only given a small compartment for your things. I got carsick when I tried to read; polishing my nails and watching movies on my iPad made the drive go by faster.”
“Did you like touring with Mouth2Mouth?”
“I did.” Surprisingly, she had. It had given her time to heal from losing her home, and it opened new horizons. Screwing the top back on the bottle, she rested her hand on her knee as she opened up to her new roommate. “I loved living in Kentucky; it will always be my home.” Ginny unconsciously rubbed the palm of her hand. “If I hadn’t lost my home, I don’t think I would have, and then I would have missed out on seeing and doing things I never imagined myself doing.” Did it make up for leaving Kentucky? No, but she had gained experiences that she would look back on when she grew older and would be able say she had been there or done that.
Traveling with Mouth2Mouth had also taught her that life was a trade-off. She had to pick and choose which items to carry with her in the backpacks, and only the most important or useful ones made it inside. It was a lesson she learned the hard way on her first tour when she had only packed clothes for the warmer climates. She had frozen her butt off during the air-conditioned bus rides and when they were out at night. She ditched half her summer clothes by the fourth day. She had also learned not to accept everyone at face value. Traveling with the roadies, she’d witnessed all the hook-ups and broken hearts that went along with being in such close confines on the bus.
Living with Lisa had given her a backbone, but she had been broken when she had lost her home. Then, leaving Kentucky had broken her heart, but it had also strengthened her. Touring was like a fingernail file, shaping her until she was stronger and able to withstand more pressure. And if she did break, she just grew more resilient. In Kentucky, she always had someone to count on in a moment’s notice. Hammer, Will, and, deep down, she knew if she called the entire clan of the Colemans, Trudy, and all her friends like Willa and Pastor Dean—any of them would have answered her call. By leaving, if anything happened, it was just her, and that was the way she wanted it to stay until she found a way to return to Kentucky without endangering Trudy. Losing her home had shown her that she had been living in a fool’s paradise.
Money ruled the world, and she had none. It had made her weak. Every dime she saved made her stronger, more able to see herself going back to Kentucky to have the life she wanted.
It had been a godsend that Penni’s network of friends included Gianna. Penni had mentioned that her friend had been looking for a roommate. Ginny had her suspicion that Penni asked Gianna when Mouth2Mouth decided to take a break from touring. When the band was on break, Ginny met her a couple of times at Penni’s house. It was easy to like the woman who reminded her a lot of Beth. She seemed very professional, nice, fun, and friendly.
Living with her had been the complete opposite of living with Bliss. Gianna had gone out of her way to make her feel comfortable, opening her life to her as if Ginny had always been a part of it. So far, the only drawback of living with her was her inability to find a job in Queen City while the band was on break, so she was having to dip into her savings. Usually when she was on a layover, she just rented an extended stay room at a hotel for the week or two in whatever city they’d stopped. Living with Gianna, she was paying more for rent. So, unless she found a job quickly, she would go through her savings and watch it slip through her fingers.
“Which band member do you like best?”
“They’re all pretty cool.” Absently answering her question, Ginny wiggled her toes to get her nails to dry faster.
“D’mon is my favorite. What’s he like?”
“I don’t know much about him, other than he can’t stand mayo on his sandwiches. I really didn’t have much contact with them personally. They travel on their own bus, and they don’t spend much time in the kitchen area of the venues during the concerts.”
“Didn’t you try to chill with any of them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wasn’t interested.”
Disbelieving, Gianna threw a cotton ball at her. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I wasn’t.”
“Do you have a boyfriend back in Kentucky?”
“No.”
“You getting over a broken heart?” That question gave her pause. Ginny didn’t want to seem crazy by giving Gianna the same answer she had given Trudy when she had asked why she hadn’t been attracted to anyone.
“I just haven’t found the person who makes my heart go crazy.”
“Maybe you have, and you don’t know because you don’t hang out with them.”
“Maybe.” Ginny didn’t think so, but she agreed in hopes that Gianna would stop her line of questioning.
She gave her a little nudge to direct her away. “How about you? Is your boyfriend the one?”
Gianna frowned. “Depends if he gets around to proposing to me when he finishes his PhD. If not, then this girl will be moving on to brighter skies.”
“You’re going to break up with him if he doesn’t propose?”
“In a heartbeat. Don’t you want to get married?”
“I wouldn’t need a ring to know someone loves me.”
“It’s not about the ring; it’s about the commitment.” Twisting the cap back on the bottle, Gianna picked up a magazine from the coffee table to angrily fan her toenails.
“I agree.”
She stopped waving the magazine. “You do?”
“Commitment is very important.” Ginny agreed. “I just wouldn’t need a ring as proof.”
“I do.”
Ginny was surprised her nails weren’t dry as fast as Gianna’s was with her waving the magazine at them.
“I don’t. But then, I’m not the one with a boyfriend.” Ginny nodded sagely. “I could change my mind when I do.”
“Did you feel that way when you did have a boyfriend?”
“I never had one. Never been out on a date either.”
Gianna gaped at her. “Never?”
“Never.”
“I’m going to cry.” Gianna changed the direction of the air flow toward her face.
“Why? I didn’t say I hadn’t been asked out, just that I haven’t gone.”
“Why the hell not?�
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“I haven’t been interested in anyone who asked.”
“I bet if D’mon asked, you’d be interested.”
Ginny turned the television on, avoiding the conversation.
Gianna jerked the remote out of her hand, turning it off. “D’mon asked you out, didn’t he? And you turned him down?” she shrieked.
“I wasn’t interested.”
“Any woman from the age of thirteen through older-than-dirt would be interested in him.”
“It’s cute how you’re starting up my Kentucky sayings.”
Ginny dodge the magazine Gianna threw at her.
“Next time he asks you out, give him my number, because I’m pretty fucking interested in him.”
“I’m getting the message,” Ginny teased. “Where’s all that talk of commitment you wanted from Chris?”
Gianna wiggled her left hand in front of her face. “You see a ring on this finger?”
“No.”
“Then hook a girl up … please.” Gianna pressed her hands together and steepled them like she was praying.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “If he calls me again, I will. Can I have the remote back now? I want to watch Slaughter Under the Mistletoe.”
“Do you have to?”
“I could watch Murder, She Wrote if you’d rather?”
“I’ll pick the show. Do you have to watch morbid ones?” Turning the television on, Gianna started flipping through movies to watch.
Tapping her toenails, Ginny made sure they were dry before she reached for the pillow behind her back to make herself more comfortable. “Murder, She Wrote isn’t morbid.”
“Is there a dead body in every episode?”
She had her there. “Yes.”
Gianna pressed Play and the screen went dark. Their casual conversation ceased as a montage of a young couple growing old had Ginny’s legs going to the floor.
“I think I’ll go lie on my bed and read for a while.”
“Hey.” Gianna grabbed her arm, stopping her. “If you don’t want to watch Up, I’ll pick something else.”
“I don’t like movies like this. They bother me.”