by Raven Dark
Fuck, she’s probably as scared for her baby as she is for herself and me. And she can’t risk doing anything because of the baby, either.
We are so screwed.
“Get in the van,” Clutch orders, bringing my focus back to him. He grabs my elbow, marching me toward the van’s side door.
Yeah, right. I’ve seen countless crime shows on TV about what happens to girls in the backs of vans like those. Once I’m inside that thing, I’m probably never getting out again.
I glance frantically at him. While he forces me toward his vehicle, he’s got his eyes, and the gun, on Anne. Which means I can’t do shit or he might shoot her.
“Red no! You son of a bitch, let her go!” Anne screams over the rumble of the van’s engine.
“Clutch, don’t do this!” I snap. “Whatever you want from me, take it, but let her the fuck go!”
“Shut your fucking mouths, both of you. In.” He opens the door quickly and shoves me inside.
Anger bolts through my fear. “Clutch, you shit—”
He points the gun at me, and I snap my mouth shut and go still. When he speaks, his voice is raised for Anne to hear.
“You just behave yourself there, mom. No calling the cops, and don’t move a muscle until we’re gone, or your brains will be all over that car. Understand?”
With Clutch between me and the car, I can’t see Anne, and if she replies, I don’t hear her. Clutch throws a glance back at her, probably to make sure she isn’t going for her phone or taking off out of the lot.
The car doesn’t move.
“Clutch, this is crazy. Don’t—”
Clutch hops in. He slams the gun into the side of my head.
Pain crashes through my skull.
Nothingness claims me.
A minute later, I wake up with light shining in my eyes again.
I blink against the blinding glare and jerk upright.
A dull ache hammers at my skull with the movement and I groan. Dizziness washes over me, making me sway. I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch the sides of my head, but it does nothing for the pain or the dizziness. I blink, and the world blurs alarmingly.
“Shit.” Trying to shake off the dizzy spell only makes my head pound harder. I draw my legs up, holding my head as I put it between my knees.
What the fuck is wrong with me? When I grope for the memory of what happened before the blackness, there’s nothing.
My fingers brush over a cut on my temple. The sting makes me wince. I look at my hand. Flakes of dried, crusted blood cover my fingers.
The memories of what happened before I’d blacked out finally begin to roll in. Clutch, holding Anne and me at gun point, then forcing me into his van. Then, him fucking pistol-whipping me so hard that he’d knocked me out.
He must have hit me so hard that he’d sliced open my head, and it bled.
Clutch.
Panic rises up. I glance around frantically, but I don’t see him or anyone else near me. The fucker probably gave me a concussion, if the dizziness and the way my head is pounding is any indication.
Then I look up, right into the blinding light that had been in my eyes when I’d come to. The light stabs through my skull, but alarm pushes the pain back.
Where the hell am I?
The glare of the light reduces the rest of the world to shadows until, slowly, my eyes adjust. My vision is already a little clearer. My surroundings come into focus, and as soon as they do, I realize where I am.
I’d been lying across the dirt floor of a familiar room. It’s a basement I’ve been in before, with rough, white cement walls and a heavy wooden door at one end. The space is huge, unfinished, and a couple of windows slash across the wall near the ceiling, letting strips of moonlight in. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, giving off that glaring, bright light.
This is the basement in Clutch’s dad’s lake house. The last time I’d been here was when that pic of Clutch and I was taken, when I was sixteen. The large two-storey vacation home sits on the edge of Tanner Lake, an hour north of Whiskey. It’s almost that far from the clubhouse. His dad always talked about finishing the basement, but I guess he never got around to it.
Hope sparks in my chest. If I know where I am, there’s a chance I can get the hell out of here. If I don’t pass out first.
Some of the dizziness has passed. I stand up slowly. Please, please don’t pass out.
Ignoring the pain in my skull, I stumble across the basement to the door.
It doesn’t budge.
Yeah, I figured he wouldn’t make that kind of mistake, especially when he didn’t tie me up or do something else to avoid my getting away, but a girl has to try.
Anger wars with fear, and I thump my fists against the door. “Hey!” I shout. “Clutch! Clutch, let me the fuck out of here!”
Nothing.
I swear, I’ll kill him.
I turn, looking for another avenue of escape. The windows provide the only other way out, but they’re too narrow for me to get through.
“Son of a bitch.”
I have no way of knowing where Clutch is, or if he’ll come down here. I pause, listening, but I can’t hear any sounds upstairs. I don’t even know if he’s in the house.
How long have I been here? For all I know, he might have left me here for hours already. Unless and until he comes through that door, my only hope is that Anne managed to go for help.
Oh, fuck, Anne.
My heart jumps with worry for her and her baby.
But he wouldn’t have killed her. If he’d meant to do that, he wouldn’t have bothered to make sure she didn’t take off before he knocked me out. He’d told her not to move until we were gone. If he’d meant to kill her, he wouldn’t have said that. He’d have just shot her and got the hell out of dodge before he drew any more attention to himself.
“Damn it.” I rake my hands through my hair, feeling like a shit for letting her come along.
But that means he let her go, which raises a question. He could have killed her. He could have forced her into the van as soon as I was out and taken her out here to kill her. Instead, he left her alive.
He left a witness, and worse, someone who could bring the entire MC down on his head. Why?
Fuck, I hope he didn’t realize this and change his mind once I was out, otherwise I might never get out of here.
My heart plummets. As angry as I was with Riot, the thought that I might never see him again is crushing.
A loud banging on the door makes me jump. I whirl around.
“Dinner time, Princess.” Clutch’s voice drifts through the door.
I glance around quickly for a weapon—a piece of cement, wood, glass, anything, but I see nothing. Shit, shit, shit.
Keys rattle, a lock clicks and the door opens. I back away.
Clutch steps into the room and shuts the door. He locks it and pockets the key.
When he turns, a smile flashes his perfect teeth. It’s an almost friendly expression, and somehow that’s more unsettling than if he’d looked pissed off.
“I thought you might be hungry.” He holds up a large pizza box from one of those mom and pop shops in Whiskey. “It’s from yesterday, but it’s still good.”
There’s so many questions racing around in my head that I don’t say anything at first.
This whole thing is so surreal, I can barely process it. This is a guy whose parents go to country clubs, who likes fast cars and pizza and wings on weekends. This is a guy I used to sneak off with on weekends to this cabin after Devil and I argued. A normal guy with hopes and dreams and normal fucking problems. The worst thing he ever did was steal cars, and now he’s kidnapped me, holding me prisoner in what used to be our private getaway. This is like an episode of The Twilight Zone.
“You deserve better than a day old pizza, but I wasn’t about to risk a delivery guy coming here with… Well, you know.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t want him realizing you have a kidnapped girl in your fucking basement.�
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That completely out of place smile spreads wider. “I always got a kick out of your quick tongue, Red.” He holds out the pizza box.
“No thanks.” My stomach growls, but I’m not about to take the chance that he drugged it.
“It’s not poisoned. And neither is this.” He pulls a can of Coke out of the pocket of his jeans and holds it out for me.
“Clutch, where’s Anne?” I need to make sure he didn’t change his mind and off the only witness—and my only hope that help is coming—before I plan my next move.
Without answering, he starts across the room, pausing to push my hair back from my face.
I flinch, shoving his hand away. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”
His mouth tightens for a second, his body tensing as if he’s been slapped.
Then, just like that, the anger in him vanishes. The way his mouth quirks is unsettling.
Clutch drops his hand and strides all the way to the other end of the huge room. There, he sits on an upside down crate and nods to another. “Have a seat.”
His tone is too polite. Cold.
“Where is my friend?” I ask tightly.
“Stop worrying. She’s probably at that den of debauchery you call a house.”
If she’s already at the clubhouse, then allowing for the drive here, I must have been here at least an hour.
I’m still dizzy and my brain is processing his words sluggishly. I walk slowly toward him, praying he doesn’t notice that I’m not up to par and try to take advantage of it.
His eyes follow my movements, fixating on my long legs, the flare of my hips, the slope of my breasts. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. I shiver.
I gotta get the fuck out of here.
“You do realize she would have called the guys five seconds after you were gone,” I say, hoping to scare him into making a mistake. “There’s probably twenty bikers on their way here to blow your head off right now.”
He shrugs, saying nothing, just sitting there with that pie and Coke in hand. The asshole jerks his head at the unoccupied crate, indicating for me to sit. Fuck, he doesn’t even look worried, and that scares the shit out of me.
There is a reason most of Whiskey doesn’t like the Hell’s Heathens. We might do toy drives for disadvantaged kids and donate to homeless shelters, but I’ve seen what the guys do to people who get on their bad side. They have no problem putting someone in the ground to protect their own. And that includes me.
I stop in front of him, but don’t take the seat. “You could have killed Anne, Clutch. Why didn’t you?”
“You think I would shoot a pregnant woman? Come on. I’m not a monster, Red.”
The answer throws me. If this situation weren’t so fucked up, I’d have laughed. “No?” I flick my eyes around the basement he’s holding me in. “I beg to differ.”
“Come on. Eat.” He sets the pie and Coke on the crate for me.
“You really fucked things up, Clutch. You are so screwed right now.” I hope.
At this, his face twists, and he shoots to his feet. “You were supposed to come alone, you stupid bitch,” he snaps.
My brows fly up. In that single instant, it’s like a switch has been flipped, and he’s become a different person. Anger blazes in his eyes and his expression is so cruel it’s almost unrecognizable.
Shit, he’s completely unhinged.
“Red, you need to eat.” Just like that, his charming country club smile is back. He sits back down. “You’ll need your strength if we’re going to get on with this.”
My heart stops. Get on with what? But the way he’s looking at me tells me exactly what he wants to get on with.
“I’m not touching the food.” I try another tactic, touching the cut on my head, where the blood has dried. “Look, I need a doctor. My head is killing me. You probably gave me a concussion.”
His back stiffens. “Well, whose fault is that, huh? If you’d have cooperated, and if you hadn’t brought someone with you, I wouldn’t have had to knock you out. You’re not getting out of here.”
So much for tricking him into giving me a way to escape. My stomach knots as I see my chances of freedom dwindling.
Suddenly I feel an upsurge of respect for those hostage negotiators I’ve heard about in crime documentaries, the kind who talk down men like him. I have no idea how the fuck to handle this. If Riot was here, Clutch would be dead now. I’m sure of it.
“Fine, then let me have some Asprin. I feel like shit.”
He leans back against the support beam that stands behind him. “Feeling a little dizzy, sweetheart?”
I don’t like the light that flickers in his eyes.
“The food will help get rid of that,” he adds.
Unease shoots up my spine. I look at the pizza. He’s trying to hard to get me to eat that. “Oh my God. Did you drug me?”
He smirks as if I’ve figured out the answer to a riddle. “You know, for a hardass, street-smart biker chick, you’re kind of a fucking airhead. How else do you think I kept you out for six hours?”
I gape. Fuck, six hours? “You son of a bitch.” I start toward him, and he leans forward, reaching behind him.
Clutch pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants, where it must have been hidden under his shirt. Eyes fixed on me, he rests the piece on his knee. “Don’t make me use this.”
Helplessness and fear seize me in a stranglehold. I glance at the windows. It’s still dark outside, but if he’s telling the truth, it’ll be light soon. Shit. Where the hell are the guys? They should have come barreling in hours ago.
A worst-case scenario slashes at my thoughts, and I imagine poor Anne by the side of the road having gone into labor, somehow unable to call for help. There are miles of nothing but fields and forest between Whiskey and the clubhouse. She could have hit ice, flipped the car, and is now lying in a ditch somewhere.
Allowing for the hour-long drive here and the bad road conditions, it has to be about four in the morning. Anne would have reached the clubhouse by now. The club would know something was wrong by this time, but if Anne is out there somewhere, it could be hours before they find her and realize I’m not with her.
“Don’t bother expecting to be rescued.” Clutch’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “Your precious bikers don’t even know about this place. No one does except my dad, and he’s dead.”
“Dead? How?” I remember Dave telling me his dad bailed Clutch out of jail. How could he already be dead?
Clutch lifts his shoulders. “I handled it.”
My stomach does a horrible nose-dive. I can see it in his eyes—he’s serious.
Fuck. I never told Devil or any of the guys about this place. If he’s telling the truth, Dave doesn’t know about it either. Clutch’s mom died when he was little. If he killed his own father, there’s no hope of his dad showing up and discovering us.
But that also tells me who I’m dealing with here. He’s going to have no problem offing me.
I deflate, my shoulders dropping.
“Now come on, be a good girl, and eat,” Clutch says. “The pie’s gonna get cold.”
“I’m not eating your drugged up food. Clutch, let me go. The Heathens will find us, and when they do, you’re dead unless you let me go and get the hell out of here now.”
Again, he lunges to his feet. His face twists with that horrible look of rage, and then he puts up his hand, pausing as if reining himself in.
“Look, princess, I’m trying to be good for you. Why do you have to be such a bitch? Why won’t you let me be nice to you?”
He hasn’t moved toward me, but I step back in reflex. My fists tighten, a fight or flight response kicking in.
“I’ve been nothing but good to you, Red.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap. “You picked me up in a stolen car. I could have ended up in fucking jail. And now, you’ve kidnapped—”
“I told them that you weren’t part of that. I could have said you helped me steal it. I gave
you a gift, which you threw in the trash.”
He’s talking about that stupid teddy bear.
Clutch’s chest rises and falls fast. “Why am I even surprised you’re being such a twat about this? You’ve always thought you were too good for me.”
“Clutch—”
“Wait.” He snaps his fingers, and an insidious smile takes over his face. He closes in slowly. “I see how it is. I’ve got this backwards.”
I retreat, frantically trying to figure a way out of this. Once he has a hold of me…
“I’m not bad enough for you,” he says slowly. “You need someone like him.”
Riot. He’s talking about Riot. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. The menace in his eyes is terrifying.
All the guys know how to handle themselves in a fight. I wish the hell I’d convinced one of them to show me how.
I put my fists up, backing toward the door, keeping him at a distance. Hoping I look like I’m capable of hurting him. I’m not sure I am. “If you touch me, I swear I’ll bash you’re fucking brains in.”
“I saw you with him, you know,” he says now. “Fucking that biker like a whore. Is that what it takes, Red? I have to be the bad guy? Get rough with you to make you want me?”
Oh, God, no.
“I’ll kill you, Clutch.” Shit, my fists are shaking.
“All I ever wanted was for you to love me, Red.”
He reaches for me. I rush backward. Clutch lunges forward and grabs my wrist, yanking me toward him. I try to twist free, but he seizes my hair, yanking it back, throwing me off balance. His face is in mine, twisted with a weird mix of rage and triumph.
I scream in agony and try to rip myself free. I’m not sure if I slipped on the dirt, or he pushed me down, but the next thing I know, I crash into the floor on my side. Pain blazes through my shoulder.
Clutch reaches for me again. I roll away from him and grab a fist full of dirt, flinging it in his eyes.
Clutch snarls in rage and staggers backwards. “You’ll pay for that, you stupid bitch.”
He’s on me in a second. Straddling my waist, he shoves the heel of his palm under my chin, pushing my head back.